it. We sit in the grass underneath a canopy of pink blossoms. I glance around for the Grass Police in their little conductor hats, always eager to remove citizens from the lawns, but I don’t see them. Étienne is a good-luck charm when it comes to this sort of thing. My hair drips through the back of my shirt but, somehow, it’s not so bad right now.
We are stil holding hands.
Okay, we should let go. This is the point where it would be normal to let go.
Why aren’t we letting go?
I force my gaze to the Grand Bassin. He does the same.We’re not watching the boats. His hand is burning, but he doesn’t let go. And then—he scoots
closer. Just barely. I glance down and see the back of his shirt has crawled up, exposing a slice of his back. His skin is smooth and pale.
It’s the sexiest thing I have ever seen.
He shifts again, and my body answers with the same. We’re arm against arm, leg against leg. His hand crushes mine, will ing me to look at him.
I do.
Étienne’s dark eyes search mine. “What are we doing?” His voice is strained.
He’s so beautiful, so perfect. I’m dizzy. My heart pounds, my pulse races. I tilt my face toward his, and he answers with an identical slow tilt toward mine.
He closes his eyes. Our lips brush lightly.
“If you ask me to kiss you, I will ,” he says.
His fingers stroke the inside of my wrists, and I burst into flames.
“Kiss me,” I say.
He does.
We are kissing like crazy. Like our lives depend on it. His tongue slips inside my mouth, gentle but demanding, and it’s nothing like I’ve ever experienced, and I suddenly understand why people describe kissing as melting because every square inch of my body dissolves into his. My fingers grip his hair,
pul ing him closer. My veins throb and my heart explodes. I have never wanted anyone like this before. Ever.
He pushes me backward and we’re lying down, making out in front of the children with their red bal oons and the old men with their chess sets and the
tourists with their laminated maps and I don’t care, I don’t care about any of that.
Al I want is Étienne.
The weight of his body on top of mine is extraordinary. I feel him—al of him—pressed against me, and I inhale his shaving cream, his shampoo, and
that extra scent that’s just . . . him. The most delicious smel I could ever imagine.
I want to breathe him, lick him, eat him, drink him. His lips taste like honey. His face has the slightest bit of stubble and it rubs my skin but I don’t care, I don’t care at all. He feels wonderful. His hands are everywhere, and it doesn’t matter that his mouth is already on top of mine, I want him closer closer closer.
And then he stops. Instinct. His body is rigid.
“How could you?” a girl cries.
Chapter thirty-nine
My first thought is El ie.
El ie found us, and she’s going to strangle me with her bare hands, right here, with the puppeteer and carousel horses and beekeepers all as
witnesses. My throat will turn purple, and I’l stop breathing, and I’l die. And then she’l go to prison and write Étienne psychotic letters on parchment made from dried skin for the rest of his life.
But it’s not El ie. It’s Meredith.
Étienne springs off me. She turns her head away, but not before I notice that she’s crying. “Mer!” She runs away before I can say anything else. I look at Étienne, and he’s rubbing his head in disbelief.
“Shite,” he says.
“Shite is right,” Rashmi says. I’m startled to discover she and Josh are here, too.
“Meredith.” I moan. “El ie.” How could we let this happen? He has a girlfriend, and we both have a friend who is in love with him—the secret that isn’t a secret and never has been.
Étienne jumps to his feet. His shirt is covered with dried grass. And then he’s gone. He races after Meredith, shouting her name. He disappears behind
a copse of trees, and Josh and Rashmi are talking, but I don’t comprehend their words.
Did Étienne just leave me? For Meredith?
I can’t swal ow. My throat is closing. Not only have I been caught with someone I had no right to be kissing—and not only was it the greatest moment of
my life—but he’s rejecting me.
In front of everyone.
There’s a hand in front of me, and in a daze, I fol ow it to its wrist, its elbow, its skul -and-crossbones tattoo, its shoulder, its neck, its face. Josh. He grips my hand and helps me stand. My cheeks are wet, and I don’t even remember starting to cry.
Josh and Rashmi don’t speak as they steer me onto a bench. They let me blubber about how I don’t know how it happened, and I didn’t mean to hurt
anyone, and please don’t tell El ie. How I can’t believe I did that to Mer, and she’l never talk to me again, and I’m not surprised Étienne ran away because I am so, so awful. The worst.
“Anna. Anna,” Josh interrupts. “If I had a euro for every stupid thing I’ve done, I could buy the Mona Lisa. You’l be fine. You’l both be fine.”
Rashmi crosses her arms. “Your lips weren’t the only ones working out there.”
“Meredith, she’s so,” I choke. “Nice.” Again, that word. So inadequate. “How could I do that to her?”
“Yeah. She is,” Rashmi says. “And that was pretty crappy of you guys to do that just now. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking, it just happened. I’ve ruined everything. She hates me. Étienne hates me!”